I'll Be Back Before You Know It
by Rainbow Fruit Loop
Summary: "Dean wasn't angry at him. Dean wasn't yelling. Dean was letting him go. And that was the worst feeling in the entire world." In which Sam leaves for Stanford, and both brothers have to figure out what they mean to each other. Wincest.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Wow. So, it's been forever since I uploaded something, because I've been super busy with school and things.  
Um... so, okay. This is, obviously, set before Season One, because it's before Sam goes to Stanford. It's funny, though, because I don't even ship Wincest that much, but here we are. :P I'll make sure the next thing I write is Destiel, haha.  
There will be six chapters of this fic (I swear, it started out as a one shot), and I'll update it every week~

So, anyways, please review! I love reviews so much. (: *Is a review whore*

~Rainbow Fruit Loop xx

* * *

_~ I'll Be Back Before You Know It ~  
_Chapter One.

_One Hundred and Eighty Three Days Before._

When Sam got the letter telling him that he had been accepted into Stanford, the first emotion he felt was not happiness, not pride, but panic.

Panic because now he had to break the news to Dean.

And it wasn't as simple as '_Hey, Dean, I got accepted into Stanford, just like we hoped._' No. That would have been too easy, too unlike their lives. No, he had to tell Dean that he _wanted _to leave their messed up family; that he _wanted _to get out of everything - their chaotic, completely insane hunter's life. And he wasn't sure that Dean would take it all to well.

Because no matter what Sam said, no matter what Sam believed, Dean would see it as Sam leaving _him. _As Sam not loving _him _enough to stay.

Which wasn't true. Because Sam loved Dean with all of his heart - and perhaps a little bit more. And the type of love he felt wasn't normal, he knew that much, because how could it ever be normal to fall completely and utterly in love with your big brother?

It had all started a year ago; as soon as Sam had turned eighteen and realised what he wanted. Turns out, what he wanted was his brother. He fought with himself for two months - _'it's sick', 'we're brothers', 'he'd never reciprocate', 'am I going insane?' _- but one day Sam had just… snapped.

He had grabbed Dean by the waist and crushed their bodies together - lips never quite touching because Sam knew that kissing was a completely different story - and he'd ground their hips together like they didn't have a tomorrow; had made embarrassing noises into Dean's ear; had dragged his tongue down Dean's chest, and… well.

Dean had been ashamed the morning after - _'I can't believe I fucked my little brother'. _He'd been disgusted by both his and Sam's actions; had refused to speak to him for a week. John had noticed, of course, but they'd made up a story as to why they couldn't sleep in the same bed anymore.

But after a few more weeks, Dean had done the exact same thing. Sam had made a snarky comment about some girl that Dean had slept with, they'd had an argument over it, and Dean had ended up losing control and crashing into Sam with more passion than the eighteen year old had ever felt in his life.

Their little 'flings', as Dean liked to call them, had gone on for the rest of the year - each touch softening and slowing until Sam thought that it meant something to Dean too. They still hadn't kissed, not properly, though, because Sam knew that Dean always thought of kissing as an emotional response and not a physical one, and he didn't want to ruin what they had by scaring Dean off.

But sexual relationship aside, Sam knew Dean. And he knew that Dean would see his departure to Stanford as him trying to get out of their screwed up, totally immoral, completely psychotic relationship.

Sam sighed to himself, fiddling absently with the letter that Bobby had forwarded on to him. It was official-looking; crisp and white and filled with meaningless compliments.

'_Congratulations... Your score was in the top three percent… Very pleased to accept such a capable student… Great academic prowess… Offering you a full scholarship… Start next semester.'_

Next semester.

The next semester started in six months time, which, really, didn't give Sam a long time to think about what he was going to do. He could always write back to Stanford and tell them that something had popped up - a family issue, he could say, because then he wouldn't be lying - and that he would have to withdraw his application, but he'd consider reapplying in a few months.

But that was the thing. He didn't _want _to say no to Stanford. Stanford was such a brilliant school, and Sam had long ago replaced his battered copies of books on demons to pristine books on the applications of law.

It was selfish, sure, but wasn't that what their family was based on? They all acted in a way that benefited themselves, and though Sam _knew _Dean would pull the family card, Sam also knew that the reason Dean was so reluctant to let him go was because then _he'd _be alone; stuck to deal with their father all on his own.

With another sigh, Sam pushed himself up from the wall he was leaning against, and made his way back to the dirty, cheap motel that their father had decided on staying in.

At nineteen years old, Sam was tall; far taller than Dean could ever hope to be. He didn't consider himself to be good looking - he was sure Dean won the competition hands down between the two - though his scruffy brown hair and his flawless smile hadn't gone unnoticed. In one of those rare moments where Sam and John talked about something that wasn't work, John had told him that he'd 'grown up good, kiddo'.

As he got nearer to the motel that had astounded Dean by the fact that it managed to scrape a one star rating, Sam tucked the letter into his jacket pocket; _out of sight, out of mind._

* * *

"Hey, Sammy. You okay? You seem kinda distracted." Dean commented as he sat down in the seat across from Sam in the diner. "Something on your mind?"

Sam glanced upwards, and cursed himself for being so transparent. "No, I'm fine." he lied - out of habit, mostly. The Winchester men didn't talk about feelings and _emotions_, which is why Sam and Dean's relationship was - regrettably - based on the physical benefits instead of the emotional ones.

Dean cast him a suspicious look, before shoving a cup of black coffee across the table.

"You sure you don't want something to eat?" Dean asked through a mouth full of bacon and egg.

Sam pulled a disgusted face as Dean chomped on through his pie. "No, thank you."

"Suit yourself."

There was a bit of a silence as Sam relished in the bitterness of his morning coffee; the only thing that could wake him up these days. After a bit, though, he cleared his throat.

"Where's Dad gone?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "He said something about going to have a look around the house."

The three men had stopped off in a small town in Minnesota, where five young females - all aged twenty five - had been killed in their locked homes. It was probably a spirit - a simple case, really.

"Oh." was Sam's reply.

"Dad'll probably want you down at the library, checking up on local legends, you know. It should be a simple case." Dean said, shoving the last quarter of his bacon and egg pie into his mouth.

It was moments like these that Sam failed to see why he was so attracted to his brother.

And great. Today was another day stuck researching at the library, while Dean would be chatting up the pretty friends of the deceased.

"What?" Dean asked, noticing the look on Sam's face. "What's wrong with you this morning?"

"Nothing." Sam replied defensively, crossing his arms across his chest and looking towards the window.

"Yeah, sure, that's convincing." Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on, what is it, Sammy?"

"It's _Sam._" Sam snapped, annoyed that Dean had continued on with the juvenile childhood nickname. Sure, he secretly _loved _the fact that Dean had a special name for him, but it still infuriated him that Dean wouldn't listen.

Dean cast him a patronising look, and got out of his seat. "Fine, fine. Be a bitch about it, then. I'm gonna go order more pie. Last chance to say you want something."

Sam ignored him, and wondered briefly why he was in such a mood. Perhaps it was because he had lain awake all night, thinking about the goddamn letter. He still didn't know what he was going to do about it - or when he was going to tell his brother.

Maybe he should attempt to say something now; their father wasn't around, and after they were done Sam could race off and hide in the library until Dean calmed down.

A few minutes later, Dean came back to the table - not with another pie, like he had said, but with a large banana milkshake.

"All out of pie." he said by way of explanation.

"Right. Hey, Dean?" Sam said, watching his brother closely.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever wish that we could have gone to school, or something? You know, had a normal life like other people our age?"

Dean looked up and chuckled. "That's what's got your bee in a bonnet? You annoyed because you can't go to school?"

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. Because, you see, I, uh, can."

"You what?" Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

"I've applied at Stanford."

Dean dropped his milkshake. "Shit," he cursed, grabbing at a napkin. He dabbed at his jeans for a second, before looking back up at Sam. "What the hell did you just say?"

Sam exhaled. "Yeah. I got accepted, too."

"Well, you're not freaking going." Dean decided, glaring at his brother as he gave up on cleaning his jeans. "What were you even thinking? You don't even want to go to school, not really."

"Yes, Dean, I do. And it's not up to you to decide if I can go or not. I can do what I want; I'm nineteen now."

"You selfish asshole." Dean snarled, leaning across the table. "Do you even know what this is going to do to Dad? We're his life. He'll hate you for leaving, you son of a bitch."

"You know what, Dean? I don't give a shit. I've had enough of fighting with him, of doing what he wants me to. You know when he last asked me what _I _wanted? Never. Because I don't get a say in anything."

"You're just a prissy little bitch because you don't always get your own way." Dean slammed his hands on the table. "Well, get used to it, Sam, because that's life. Things don't always happen like you want them to."

"My entire life hasn't happened like I wanted it to!" Sam said, frustrated at Dean's asshole comments. "It's all right for you, because you're Dad's favourite, his little soldier, but me? Someone who's got their own opinions? Someone who doesn't want to follow his instructions without questions? No chance. I'm not going to waste my life hunting monsters and turning bitter like him."

Sam hated fighting with Dean, he really did, but why did his brother have to be so… so unsupportive all the time? Sam always knew that this was how the conversation was going to go, but for once, he wished that Dean would support him. But no. Their dad always came first, and it really grated Sam.

"I am not going to have this conversation with you." Dean growled, getting up out of his seat and turning towards the exit. "You know that you're being a self centred prick, right?"

And with that, he stormed out of the diner, leaving Sam alone at the table.

* * *

After Sam had spent seven hours researching at the local library, John had decided that the job was as simple as it could be, and that he could manage by himself. Which, of course, left a pissed off Dean and an aggravated Sam alone in the motel room together.

"I'm going to take a walk." Dean muttered as soon as the two heard the Impala drive off.

"No, Dean, wait. Can we… can we talk? Please?" Sam asked, getting up from his seat at the table to perch awkwardly next to Dean on the sofa.

"I told you we're not having the freaking conversation." Dean snarled, standing up, and striding to the other side of the room. "I can't talk to you about this now."

"Dean, please." Sam practically begged. "I need you to listen."

"And I need you not to leave me for Stanford. Isn't that what we promised? That we'd never leave each other, because we _need _each other? I guess that didn't mean anything to you."

Sam stood up, and followed Dean to the other side of the room. "I _do _need you. You're my brother. Just… please don't be like this. I don't think I could cope with you hating my guts."

"I'm just your brother?" Dean suddenly asked, whirling around to face Sam. "Is that all I am to you? Your brother?"

Sam's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Because Sam honestly didn't think that their physical closeness meant anything to Dean. Dean had never made a move to kiss him, had never held his hand or cuddled him in bed - all things that he knew Sam liked. Sam had always thought that, to Dean, he was simply an eager source of sex - sex that he didn't have to meet in a bar and impress with flirtatious winks and scandalous comments.

Dean scowled. "I don't mean anything. Yeah, you're right. We're brothers. And you're still going to leave me. Real nice, Sammy."

Sam frowned, his mind still stuck on the 'is that all I am to you' sentence. "Dean, whatever's happening between us… I always thought that we did it because… you know. I didn't think it really, uh, meant anything to you."

"It doesn't. It's perverted, and sick, and… you're my brother. What we do, it's not normal. You have to know that. It's _wrong._"

Like he had been slapped, Sam felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to blink them back, but Dean's face took on a softer look; his voice a more gentle tone.

"Sammy…"

"No, Dean, it's fine. I know that it's not normal. And it doesn't mean anything to me either, so it's fine." Sam lied. "It's just easy release, right? Sex we don't have to find in a bar."

Dean looked at him a little strangely. "But the reason you want to leave me… it's not because of-" he gestured between their bodies. "It's not because of this, right? Because if it's making you uncomfortable now, the things that we do, then I promise we don't have to do them anymore." His voice broke on the last few syllables, and something in Sam's heart clenched as he realised just how upset Dean was about the whole scenario.

"No, Dean. It's not that." Sam murmured, the tears still in his eyes. He didn't like seeing Dean so broken, so helpless. It almost made him want to stay - to endure life with their father, but… he just couldn't do it. Dean was right. He _was_ selfish.

Briefly, Dean pressed a palm to his face. "I just don't understand why you're so eager to leave me." he all but whispered. "I thought we were a team, Sammy. You and me against the world, remember?"

Sam sucked in a silent breath, and made to move his hands over where Dean's were clenched at his sides. Dean jerked away. Sam sighed.

"I don't want to leave you, I really don't. I just… I can't do this, Dean. This life? I hate it. I'm not a hunter like you or Dad. I can't _do _it. I want to go to school, I want to learn, I want to be something _more _than a soldier for Dad."

"We've all had to give up what we wanted." Dean said, taking a step back from where the two had got a little too close. "We even lost Mom."

"But do you really think that Mom would have wanted us to grow up like this? As hunters? Don't you think that she would have hated Dad for doing this to us?"

Suddenly, Dean's hands were clutched in the fabric of Sam's shirt; pulling him close. "Don't you _dare _bring what Mom would have wanted into this conversation, Sam." he spat out, his anger flaring up; fury evident in his green eyes. "Don't you _dare_ do that to me." He gave Sam a shake for good measure, and then pushed him back, hard.

Sam stumbled backwards and hit his hip on the table behind him. "Look, I'm sorry, all right?"

There was silence from Dean for a few minutes, before he muttered, "I'm going to take that walk now."

And as he slammed the door shut with a loud, frustrated _bang_, Sam curled himself up into a tight little ball on their double bed and cried himself to sleep for the first time in eight years.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Hey readers! Okay, well, I know I said that I was going to update this once a week, but because this fic didn't get very much response (*wails dramatically in corner of the room*) I thought that I'd update early for those... few... people who seemed to not hate it too much. XD

So, a HUGE thank you to my very lovely friend tii-chan17 for being my one and only reviewer. :P But, PLEASE, GUYS, review if I made you feel any emotion at all. I love reviews so much, and I actually put effort into writing this. (: Um, okay, bribes... hmm... The next chapter is super fluffy and a little bit sad... um, there's kissing and tears... and the speed that I update this depends on how many reviews this chapter gets...? Yes. I'll do that. XD SO PLEASE REVIEW, GUYS! (: _Review! _(:

~Rainbow Fruit Loop xx

* * *

_~I'll Be Back Before You Know It~  
_Chapter Two.

_One Hundred and Eighty Two Days Before._

When Sam awoke the next morning, Dean was fast asleep on the sofa, arm tossed over his face to block out the light streaming through the wide-open curtains. He was fully dressed - just like Sam - and his ruffled appearance made Sam sad for reasons he couldn't quite understand.

Maybe it was because he knew he was the cause of all Dean's problems.

With a weary sigh, Sam pushed himself off the bed, and crept into the bathroom adjacent to the lounge. He splashed some cold water on his face in the hopes of sharpening his mind, brushed his teeth, and made an interesting 'yelp' when Dean's face appeared behind him in the chipped mirror.

"Jesus, Dean, a little warning next time?" Sam huffed, moving out of the way to let Dean use the sink.

He didn't expect a reply; Dean was known for going days without talking if he was pissed off, so Sam was pleasantly surprised when Dean answered with, "Calm it, Sammy, and leave the room because I need to piss."

"Ah, okay."

Sam left the room, and headed for the kitchen, wondering why Dean appeared to be talking to him so freely after their argument the previous night.

When Dean emerged from the bathroom, Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

"What, guy can't pee so early in the morning?" Dean grumbled, glancing at the clock that read twenty past five.

"What? No." Sam paused awkwardly, and held up the cheap motel-room kettle. "Do you want coffee?"

Dean glanced up at him from where he was rummaging though in his bag in the hopes of finding a clean-ish shirt. "Are we not going to go out for breakfast again?"

Yet again, Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "You willingly want to go out with me after…" he trailed off, and shuffled uncomfortably.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I? We're brothers, right?" Dean flashed him a grin, and, having located a clean shirt, pulled his old one off and tossed it to where a vague 'wash pile' was forming.

Sam tried desperately not to ogle Dean's naked chest as his brother hunted for his deodorant. Being caught staring at his brother's bare torso would probably snap Dean out of his weirdly cheerful mood.

It was only then that Sam caught the last half of Dean's comment.

_We're brothers, right?_

Wait a minute. Did that mean- Was Dean suggesting that they- Did Dean want them to _stop? _Was Dean insinuating that - whatever was happening between them - he wanted them to end it?

Because Sam wasn't sure what he would do if Dean wanted them to stop. He'd come to find their closeness as a comfort - an assurance that Dean loved him, and though it may not have been the type of love that Sam so desired, simply knowing that with his strong fingers and skilful tongue, _he_ could bring Dean to a state where he was totally undone; open and exposed; completely and utterly _trusting… _well, it did funny things to Sam's heart.

"Yeah. Brothers." Sam muttered, jumping out of his daydream as Dean pulled his new shirt on.

_Brothers._

* * *

The rest of the day progressed without any arguments, without any snarky comments or unhelpful digs. Dean was friendly. _Too friendly._

Sam felt as though he was walking on eggshells; desperate to say _something _to break the tension that surely Dean felt too, but at the same time, afraid to say something that would make Dean remember everything that they had said.

_What we do, it's not normal. You have to know that. It's wrong._

Because, more than discussing what was happening with Stanford, more than _anything_, Sam wanted to bring up the fact that both of them had totally dismissed whatever it was that was happening between them.

Dismissed that, when Dean walked into the room, Sam stopped whatever he was doing just to _look, _to take in the stunning sight that was Dean_. _Dismissed that, when Sam wasn't around, Dean couldn't think straight - yes, half of it was worry, because that was what Dean did best, but also because he was filled with a strange sort of insatiable desire.

They dismissed that, when they lay together after sex, breathing heavily, covered in sweat, they were both completely and utterly content in each other. They didn't need anyone else. It was them against the world, and, really, they loved each other far too much to _not _be filled with such a greedy longing.

Because, despite Sam's barefaced lies, his physical relationship with Dean meant everything to him, and it hurt him to hear Dean call it wrong.

Because it wasn't _wrong_… was it?

Sam knew that it wasn't _normal_, but surely that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. When had anything in their lives ever been normal? Why should they start now? If they didn't take what they could get, then where would they be left? They didn't lead the type of lives that could provide the warmth and happiness that they could give to each other, and it seemed almost ungrateful to ignore what little God had given them.

But… deep down, Sam supposed that he knew that it was completely immoral, but how could he fight it when Dean was just so _irresistible_? He knew that finding release in his older brother was something that would disgust anyone sane, but when he was with Dean, he couldn't bring himself to care.

But now? Now he was leaving. Leaving the life, leaving their father, leaving _Dean. _Was he really about to give up everything he thought he and Dean had? What he thought they could _be _- if only they both admitted it? Wouldn't he be happier if he stayed? Wouldn't he be happy wherever Dean was?

So was he going to be miserable at Stanford? Was he going to be counting down the days until it was all over? Or would he enjoy it? Enjoy the freedom he got - enjoy the idea that, despite his eternal love for his brother, he could find someone else? Someone whose hand he could hold in front of their father? A pretty girl, who he could introduce to the world with delighted cries of: _"This is real. This is right."_ He could hold her tight in a way he could never hold Dean, could marry her and start a family.

A family.

But when he thought of being happy, he just couldn't picture it. Happy without Dean in his life? It didn't sound right. Because, no matter how hard he tried, the anonymous woman's face always twisted and distorted until he was looking at the perfect image of his gorgeous brother.

Constantly being in the presence of his Dean meant that the emotions Sam felt so strongly could only strengthen; toughened by their shared experiences and intensified by their shared 'I love yous', even if Sam knew that Dean only meant it platonically.

Because what Sam felt_…_ It wasn't something that would ever go away.

* * *

_One Hundred and Seventy Nine Days Before._

When John came back a few days later, Sam was pleasantly surprised when he announced that they wouldn't be leaving for another week. He hadn't asked why, nor had Dean, but Sam was thankful for the fact that he could settle for a week.

The letter was still on his mind, and he didn't know when to bring it up to his father. He could imagine what John would say to him - what John would say to _Dean. _Because Sam knew that John would find some way to make sure that Dean felt more terrible than he already did.

And, much to Sam's disappointment, Dean's attitude was still unwaveringly bright. He hadn't initiated anything, hadn't given Sam that _look_ - the look that meant everything in the world to Sam, because he knew that it was Dean's way of telling him how much he wanted him.

Dean had always been bad at being subtle around their father, and Sam never knew whether it was because he didn't care if their dad found out - though Sam couldn't think of anything worse - or if it was just because he found a sick sort of pleasure in watching Sam squirm.

Either way, John had never noticed anything, had never said anything when Dean made lewd, completely innuendo-soaked comments about something Sam was wearing, or something he had said, or even something that they had done the previous night.

John had never said anything about the way that sometimes their touches lingered, the way that sometimes they woke up just a _little _bit too close to be acceptable, or the way that their eyes sometimes watched each other in an almost predatory way; smouldering, intense, hungry.

John had never said anything, and Sam thought it was because he didn't really pay them much attention. At nineteen and twenty three, John had decided that they were adults; they didn't need constant surveillance or the worried parent act.

And, while a little part of Sam resented that - resented the fact that John _recognised _that Sam was an adult, yet still expected him to follow around - he was glad that their father was completely oblivious. What an awkward conversation to have - _Hey, Dad, Dean and I are screwing around. I hope it doesn't bother you._

Ignorance, they always said, was bliss.

* * *

"Sam, I want you at the library in ten minutes." John instructed from the other side of the room. Though he had only been back from the ghost hunt for a few days, he had already caught wind of a new case. This one was probably a werewolf, and it didn't interest Sam in the slightest.

"Why?" Sam asked, already frustrated at his father's usual demanding tone.

"Because you need to see if you can find any regular death patterns, probably going back a few decades."

"I thought we had already established it as a werewolf." Sam muttered, sighing to himself. "Silver bullet to the heart, that's it. There's no need for me to go to the library."

"Sam, you will do as I ask for as long as you're living under the roof I put over your head." John said, his tone sharp.

Sam prickled at that. John wasn't _asking _him to do anything; that was the problem. He was demanding - demanding in that rude, arrogant way that he always did. And the 'roof I put over your head' thing was absolute crap. The only reason they ever had money to pay for the cheap motels was because he and Dean either hustled pool, or got jobs when they were in a town for long enough.

"Okay, guys, enough." Dean said - ever the mediator. "Sam, you head off to the library for an hour or two, and Dad and I will focus on finding out who the werewolf is. All right?" He shot Sam a look that said a million words, and Sam found himself glaring.

"Dean, can't you see that all he ever does is expect us to follow his orders? Do you really have no backbone?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to have this conversation with you." He gave Sam another look - this one pointed, and saying "I'll tell Dad about Stanford."

Sam shut his mouth, rolled his eyes at his brother, and stormed out of the motel.

As he walked to the library, he thought bitterly about his relationship with his father.

He knew that John was trying his best in an impossible situation; had been trying to raise two young boys alone. Simply being a single parent to two boys was hard enough for anyone, but the situation was made worse by their lifestyle.

Sometimes, Sam wondered why his father had ever bothered. He knew what this life did to his children - knew what this life had_ already _done to his children. Was the death of their mother's killer really worth more than everything that they could have had? Did the thought of killing whatever the hell it was cancel out the pain and the heartache and the stress that they had all been put through?

Sam wasn't sure that he would have done what his father had done, if he'd been given the choice. Because, as much as it still pained him to say, their mother was gone now, and she wasn't coming back, no matter what anyone did, no matter what anybody killed.

Okay, so maybe Sam was sometimes a little bit hard on their father, but that didn't give him the right to treat them how he did. Sam was nineteen now - an adult. Not a child.

Sam sighed again.

And Dean. Typical Dean. Always ready to jump to their father's defence; always ready to agree with whatever unfair scheme John had thought of. It was times like these when Sam wondered just how much he really meant to Dean. Surely a brother was worth more than a father?

Perhaps it didn't work like that, but with Dean as his brother _and _his fuck buddy, Sam would have thought that Dean would have been, perhaps, a little bit more supportive of his complaints.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his tired face, and climbed up the stairs to the library.

He was in for a fun afternoon.

* * *

"God, I hate you!" Sam slammed the door to his and Dean's room shut, and flopped down on the bed, blinking back his tiredness.

After another row with John over Sam's "lack of actual research" that had resulted in many harsh words and threats of actual physical contact, Sam had had just about enough.

He wanted out. He couldn't live the life that his father seemed so determined to force him into. He just couldn't.

Maybe Dean would see it as Sam leaving him when he needed his brother the most, maybe he would see it as Sam wanting another life - anything but the one he had been given. But Sam didn't care what Dean thought. Screw Dean. Dean hadn't helped him when he'd needed backup against John. Dean hadn't been supportive when Sam had said that he has been accepted into such a great school - something that would have made most brothers proud.

No, Dean had been the opposite of everything that Sam had wanted - the opposite of everything he had _needed. _And of course he still loved his brother with all of his heart, but maybe… Maybe going away would give them both the chance to figure out what their messed-up relationship actually was.

A knock on the door disturbed Sam.

"Sammy?" came Dean's hesitant voice. "You all right?"

Sam ignored him, and turned over in the bed; his back facing the now open door.

"Sam? Dad's gone out for a while, and I'm going out for dinner. Are you coming?"

Again, Sam ignored him, and fidgeted on the bed, pulling the pillow down until it rested comfortably underneath his head.

"I'm sorry you fought with Dad." Dean tried, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I'm sure he didn't mean anything he said."

_It's too late now to try and help._

Stony silence from Sam.

Dean sighed. "All right, you be a bitch about it. I'm going out."

As Dean slammed the door shut, Sam sat up and glared after his brother. Dean's attempts at fixing whatever he thought had been broken were useless now; he'd needed support during the argument, not afterwards.

And Sam knew that, if their father had still been around, Dean wouldn't have even attempted to talk Sam out of his mood.

And all of this, this fighting, this shouting, this feeling that Sam couldn't quite shake, but it was a feeling that told him that, if he stayed, things were going to get a whole lot worse; all of this had made his mind up for him.

Sam was going to accept his place at Stanford.

Since he was alone in the motel room - sulking like a ten year old - Sam pulled out a sheet of paper from his bag, and set himself up at the table; pen gripped tightly in his hand.

"_To whomever it may concern…"_


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Hey, guys! Wow, so you guys gave me such amazing reviews last chapter! (: I was so overwhelmed with your incredible response that, as promised, I decided to post this chapter early! I like this one, because it's super fluffy and a little bit 'awww'. XD So yeah.

Please review this chapter too, because, honestly, if I see that one of you has reviewed, I literally go: 'OMG OMG SOMEONE'S REVIEWED OMG I MUST DROP EVERYTHING TO READ THE REVIEW OMG OMG'. :P So yeah. Also, the next chapter is in Dean's POV! :P

~Rainbow Fruit Loop xx

* * *

_~I'll Be Back Before You Know It~  
_Chapter Three.

_Ninety One Days Before._

Over the next few months, Sam kept his mouth tightly shut about the acceptance letter he had written to Stanford. He didn't want to go behind Dean or John's back, but he didn't feel as though he really had a choice. Saying something to John would only end in screaming, and probably punching, and telling Dean…

Well, the disappointment and hurt wasn't something that Sam felt he could cope with yet. But the niggling feeling at the back of his head telling him to say something was getting almost impossible to ignore.

Dean deserved to know that Sam was definitely leaving. Leaving them, leaving _him_.

The Winchesters were no longer in Minnesota, and had driven to another small town - this one just outside of Oklahoma. They were supposed to be hunting a demon or a vampire or something; Sam hadn't been paying attention because this _damn _Stanford thing was really getting to him.

John was absent from the motel room, like he always was, because working was more important than spending time with his sons. But Sam didn't care. It meant less arguments, and a good opportunity to talk to Dean.

It was nine thirty at night, and Dean's head was already lolling precariously. The two were sprawled out on the sofa together - though not _together_, like they would usually have been, because Dean was still being annoyingly _platonic _with him. They were watching a crappy re-run of an ancient television series, and it would have sent Sam off to sleep too, if it hadn't have been for The Situation, as he had taken to calling it in his head.

"Dean?" Sam nudged Dean carefully with his toe. "You awake?"

Dean made a vaguely awake noise, and rubbed at his eyes. "This is crap. I'm thinking about going to bed and sleeping until forever." he muttered, yawning as he did so.

"Oh. Well, I was just wondering if we could talk." Sam hedged, sitting up a little bit straighter.

Dean was instantly on alert. "About what…?" he asked, cautious because Sam only ever used that tone of voice when he wanted to say something that would either upset or anger him.

"About Stanford." Sam replied.

Dean sighed. "We've already spoken about you going to school. You know that I don't want you to go. What else is there to talk about?"

Sam made a nervous noise that made Dean's heart sink.

"I, uh… I wrote back to them. I told them I was going." Sam muttered, looking away as though he was ashamed. "I've accepted the placement."

Sam fidgeted nervously as he waited for Dean's outburst. He knew what his brother was like when he got angry, and Sam would be eternally grateful if he ended the conversation with only a few black bruises and a split lip.

But, instead of shouting, Dean got up from the sofa slowly; looking anywhere but Sam.

"Awesome. Thanks a lot, Sam." With that, he walked off into the bedroom, and shut the door behind him with a quiet 'click'.

That was what got Sam. Dean _shut _the door. Quietly. He didn't slam it; didn't almost dislocate it from its hinges. No. He made a quiet, specific effort to close the door quietly.

Sam swallowed back the lump in his throat, and blinked back the tears in his eyes. Dean wasn't angry at him. Dean wasn't yelling. Dean was letting him go.

And that was the worst feeling in the entire world.

With shaking legs, Sam got off the sofa and crept over to the bedroom door. He put his ear against the wood, and listened for any sound that would give him an indication as to what Dean was doing in there.

But there was nothing. No shouts, no bangs, no muted sobs. Nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Sam opened the door quietly, and slipped into the room. Dean was lying on the bed that he and Sam were supposed to be sharing, but weren't; his back to the door.

"Dean?" Sam was sure he sounded like a child, but he was worried. He had never seen Dean react so… so _calmly _to bad news, and it scared him. "Dean, please say something."

Expecting Dean to either tell him to leave, or simply ignore him, Sam was surprised when his brother turned around on the bed to face him. His face was completely blank; no hint of the emotions that Dean had felt so strongly the last time they had spoken about Stanford.

"What can I say? I'm happy that you're getting what you want." Dean's voice was flat and monotonous too, and Sam felt something stabbing at his chest.

"I don't want you to say that. I want you to shout and to hit me and to tell me that I'm the worst type of brother ever." Sam told him quietly, perching himself awkwardly on the end of the bed.

"That's not what I want to say."

"Then what _do _you want to say? Please, just… something. Anything." Sam was pretty sure that he was begging now, but he couldn't bring a single cell in his body to care.

"Nothing. I have nothing to say to you." Dean said, closing his eyes briefly. "You've chosen to do what makes you happy, and even if that means being as far away from me as possible, I'm fine with that."

"But you're not. Come on, Dean, please. I can't stand this. Just… get angry, please."

Sam knew how to deal with anger. Disappointment? Not so much.

Dean forced himself into an upright position, and regarded Sam with hurt, betrayed eyes. "Look, Sam. I understand that you want me to say something to make you feel better - even if it is me telling you what a selfish son of a bitch you're being - but I'm too tired for this, okay? I just can't." Dean turned away, and Sam followed his actions; ready to bolt if Dean started throwing punches.

"I've been with you every day of your entire life, and now you're leaving. And I want you to have a good life, I do. So you should go to school. Don't let me hold you back. You deserve so much more than what Dad and I have to give you, so just… do what you want."

Sam stared at Dean with despondent eyes, and his next few words sounded completely broken. "You're supposed to tell me that I can't leave. You're supposed to tell me that you don't think you could live without me. You're not supposed to let me go."

"If I said what you wanted to hear, would it make a difference?"

The question stopped Sam in his tracks. _Would _it make a difference? Either way, he had already accepted his place at Stanford, so what good would it do to have Dean say the words that he so obviously didn't want to give?

"I… I just…" Sam inhaled deeply, before swallowing harshly. "I'm just sorry. I'm just really, really sorry, Dean."

And suddenly Dean was at his side; softly pushing his hair out of his eyes, before wrapping him up into an awkward, yet _wonderful _hug.

"I just- I don't want you to be sorry, Sammy. If this is truly what you want - to go to school - then I want you to be happy. I don't want you worrying about me. I'll be fine. I don't blame you for trying to break out of this life."

Sam didn't say anything, and instead moved until his chin rested on Dean's shoulder; holding his brother close. It had been so long since he had felt this relieved; this _comforted. _Dean hadn't touched him in two months, and it had had Sam thinking, _I've messed everything up. I ruin everything._

"I've missed this." Sam murmured quietly,as Dean absentmindedly stroked through his hair, his strong, calloused fingers tracing delicate patterns on his scalp. "Why did we ever stop?"

Dean pulled back abruptly, and Sam felt a sudden flash of panic pierce through him. But then Dean smiled that gorgeous, crinkly-eyed smile at him, and Sam felt himself melting. But then Dean's smile turned sad.

"Because I can't bear to have all of this, all of _you, _and then to have it all disappear."

Sam didn't know how to reply to the statement; it was the truest thing he had ever heard. He didn't want to start up their physical relationship again, if it would only make it harder to leave at the end.

But being with Dean held an element of something intoxicating; something that made Sam feel as though he would never be happier. He didn't want to stop feeling Dean's strong hands on his body, or Dean's mouth at his neck. He wanted Dean, no matter how hard it made their goodbye.

But… But if Dean wanted it otherwise, then who was Sam to complain? He was the cause of the heartache, and he'd do whatever he could to lessen his brother's suffering.

Instead of addressing Dean's comment, Sam deflected the conversation.

"You're the reason why I didn't leave this life as soon as I could, Dean." Sam mumbled into his shirt. "You're the only person who's made me want to stay. Not Dad, not even Mom. It's only you. And I just… I just want you to know that leaving would have the easiest thing in the world, if it hadn't meant leaving you."

Dean sighed. "I know, Sammy. I'll miss you too."

Sam held Dean a little tighter, and blinked back the tears in his eyes. "I'll miss you so much that it'll hurt."

Dean smiled, and if Sam had pulled back, then he would have seen the tears silently running down his brother's face. "Hey, no need to get upset. You're not leaving straight away, are you?"

Sam shook his head. "No, the semester doesn't start for another few months."

Dean smiled again. "There we go. Nothing to worry about. We've still got a few months together, and we'll deal with you leaving when we get to it. I just want you to know that I'm not angry, not really. And I'm not disappointed in you. I'm just glad that you're getting what you want. It'll all be okay. We'll be fine."

Carefully, Dean pulled back from the embrace, and cupped Sam's cheek with his hand.

"It'll all be okay, Sammy. You'll see."

And then something in Dean's attitude changed, and before Sam knew what was happening, Dean was leaning forwards, head tilted, plump pink lips inches from Sam's own.

"Is this okay?" Dean asked in a whisper, his eyes flickering upwards to gaze into Sam's.

Sam barely managed to make his head nod, and then Dean was kissing him. As in, Dean Winchester was actually kissing him, and it wasn't just one of his crazy dreams; dreams that he had been wishing would come true for almost an entire year.

Sam gave a shaky exhale, and moved his arms until they rested awkwardly at Dean's hips. The fingers of Dean's right hand were kneading gently into the back of his head; his left hand still cupping Sam's face.

In all of their time together, Sam had never known Dean to be a gentle lover - their physical relationship had always been full of passion; rough, fierce and completely unforgiving. And to see Dean like this - with his eyes squeezed tightly shut as though he was focusing solely on the feel of Sam - was the most beautiful thing that Sam could ever imagine.

With a new type of confidence, Sam pulled back and attached his lips to Dean's neck, suckling at the soft skin until he was sure a bruise would form. He traced his tongue up and down Dean's throat, his body responding to the little moans of pleasure that Dean was making.

And then Sam was overcome with surge of happiness so powerful that he wanted to shout it out to the world; _This is happening. This is real. _And suddenly he needed everything all at once, and simply licking up the thin layer of sweat at Dean's throat wasn't enough.

He tightened his grip on Dean's waist and lay down on the bed; pulling Dean forwards until their bodies were lying flush against each other. He moved his mouth until he felt Dean's soft lips connect with his once more, giving a gentle moan of pleasure at the contact. He could feel Dean moving against him as the kiss deepened; could feel the length of his body pressing hard against his own.

And, _God, _it felt so right.

"Dean…" Sam couldn't help but murmur as Dean's tongue swept across his bottom lip, inquisitively licking in a way that would have made Sam's knees weak, had he been standing. "Oh, _God, _Dean… I need you now. Please, Dean. Now."

Dean's hands turned rough, and they traced down Sam's body; exploring and hard and full of teasing. They stroked down his chest and stomach and thighs in a way that was so slow and _tormenting _that Sam was almost begging him to hurry.

Because now there was no more gentleness; no more softness. There was only passion, though this time it was a different type of passion; one that meant so much more to both brothers than it ever had before.

* * *

Afterwards, Dean rolled over on his side, and propped his head up on his arm.

"That was… wow." he stated, grinning at Sam in an almost child-like way. "You sure know what you're doing, for someone of as little experience as yourself."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Shut up. I'm tired now. Let me sleep." He rolled over, and buried his face in the pillow that still smelt of sex, and closed his eyes; blissful and content.

Sam expected Dean to move away; to get up and shower, or simply take John's bed, because their father wasn't coming back until the morning. But, instead of following his usual 'love 'em and leave 'em' rule, Dean made a lazy sort of noise, and curled up behind Sam; wrapping his arms around Sam's slim waist.

"I'm tired too." he yawned to emphasize his point, and gave a playful nuzzle into the back of Sam's neck.

And, despite every sane instinct in his body telling him to shut up otherwise Dean might get out of the warm bed, Sam couldn't help but smirk and say, "Oh, so you do like cuddling then, huh?"

"Shut up, Sammy." came Dean's reply. "You smell nice."

"I see now why it is you always get the women." Sam retorted, turning his head a little to look at Dean from a funny angle. "You really know how to sweet-talk someone after sex."

There was a low chuckle from Dean that made Sam smile, and the two lay in silence for a few minutes, curled up like cats, content and warm, happy in each other's company.

Sam was just about dozing off, when Dean's voice disturbed him.

"You sure this is what you want, Sammy?" he asked, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns into the small of Sam's back. "I mean, are you sure that you don't want us to stop?"

Sam sighed to himself, and turned around in the bed to face Dean. "I… No. No, I don't want this to end." _I don't want it to ever end. _"So, yeah, Dean, I want this. I want you." Gently, he reached forwards and traced the lines of Dean's face; lines he had memorised so well, freckles he had learnt the exact placement of. "I want us."

Dean sighed. "You know how much harder this is going to make everything, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. But I'm willing if you're willing."

"Yeah. I'm willing."

"Good." Sam smiled at his brother, and pressed a light kiss to his lips. "But let's sleep now. We can talk tomorrow."

And with that, the two drifted off into fuzzy dreamlands; each content in their own personal piece of happiness - wrapped up in each other and completely blissful.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: It's update time! (: Well, here we go, guys! Chapter four, which I wrote in Dean's point of view, which was certainly interesting and very fun. :P Okay, so, thanks for all your reviews for the previous chapter! You guys really are amazing! :P So, please review again: only two more chapters to go after this one!

~Rainbow Fruit Loop xx

* * *

_~I'll Be Back Before You Know It~  
_Chapter Four.

_Ninety Days Before._

It was with a groan that Dean forced himself to untangle his limbs from Sam's. It was eight o'clock in the morning; far too late to still be in bed.

With a yawn, Dean prodded Sam in the ribs, smirking as Sam made a grumpy noise and rolled over; hiding his face underneath the pillow as though he thought that would make a difference.

"Rise and shine, Sammy." Dean said, poking his brother again. "Get up, lazy ass. I want to go out for breakfast. I need me some bacon."

Sam made another noise, but managed to force himself into an upright position. "What's the time?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "It had better be after seven."

"It's eight o'clock, and Dad said he'd be back at nine thirty." Dean said, standing up and stretching. "So go have a shower, and then we can go out for food, and pretend that we didn't have crazy, wonderful sex last night."

"You're so bossy, Dean." Sam smiled at his brother, and got out of the almost _painfully_ warm bed; immediately cold in the chilly air. "Christ, the shower better be hot." he complained, pulling the duvet off the bed and wrapping it around his shoulders.

Dean smirked, and tugged on the clothes that had been discarded the previous night. "Yeah, well, get used to it, Sammy. It's always cold at this time of year."

"Especially because the motels we stay in are too cheap to give us any sort of heat."

Dean chuckled, and watched as his brother shuffled into the small, cramped bathroom. He heard the shower turn on, and then a few minutes later, the relieved "Thank freaking God" as Sam stepped into the heat.

It was with a pang of sadness, though, that Dean smiled this time. He loved his brother to pieces, and he just couldn't imagine what his life would be like without him.

And he knew that Sam wasn't choosing to leave _him, _as such, but it still hurt when he let himself think that Sam wanted to be happy, and being happy meant being away from Dean.

Dean had sacrificed his everything in making sure that Sam would have the best life possible, so, yeah, he was a little bitter that Sam was so eager to leave. Why couldn't the kid just freaking stay?

It wasn't like their life was all bad - they had each other, they had the Impala, and they had all of the United States of America to explore. They lived every young child's dream - except maybe theirs - fighting monsters, kicking ass, saving lives. What was so wrong with all of that? Why couldn't Sam just be content with what he had? Why did he think he needed more?

Dean sighed, frustrated all of a sudden. Why _did _Sam's idea of happiness have to be so far away from him? And why - if he was leaving - was Sam so eager to jump headfirst into their messed-up sexual relationship? Why did he need to make everything so much worse? Because Sam knew that, in the end, Dean couldn't deny him anything. So why was he doing this, even if he knew that it would hurt?

Dean knew that he was being a little bit harsh, but he'd never meant to let Sam know the depth of what he felt, so now he felt open and exposed. He liked it when their relationship had been purely about the sex - a physical closeness that wouldn't really affect anything; something they could stop at any point.

He hadn't wanted them to actually _feel _things for each other, because that made everything so much more serious. And, though he didn't regret falling head-over-heels - for lack of a better term - in love with his brother, what with Sam leaving and everything…

Well, Dean didn't know whether it was all worth it. He could say goodbye to his brother, but he wasn't sure he could say goodbye to his soul mate. But now… Now he'd all but admitted it to Sam, so where did that leave him?

_Damnit, Sam, why do you have to leave?_

But then there was the other part of Dean - the softer, less angry side - that knew that Sam was too smart to stay in the life of a hunter. The kid was a freakin' genius, with his whole life in front of him, and he deserved to go to school, to make something out of the crap he'd been given.

And Dean knew that, yeah, of course they'd stay in touch - if Dean ever mastered the delicate intricacies of the email account Sam had set up for him, that was. And of course he'd visit Sam, and all of his geeky little college friends, and maybe even his…

Well. Dean didn't like to let his mind wander that far, but if Sam ever got a proper girlfriend or a boyfriend - someone that wasn't _him_, despite everything they might admit to each other - Dean was pretty sure that he'd try his hardest to act like he wasn't hurting.

Because, yeah. He had admitted it to himself a long time ago. The thought of Sam with someone else - curled up asleep with someone else, kissing someone else on the nose, complaining about the cold with someone else - made Dean feel utterly nauseous.

Sure, when he and Sam had first started screwing around, he hadn't really thought much of it. At twenty three, Dean needed sex on a regular basis, and if Sam was offering, then what was the problem? He knew that he wasn't going to catch any funky diseases off Sam, so the arrangement they had settled into fitted perfectly.

It was simple, their sex. Easy, clean, emotionless.

But then Dean had done what he'd always found a weakness in others; he'd started to _feel. _He had started to think about that tiny, four letter word when they lay together after sex, and so many times - _so many times - _he had almost blurted it out to a sleepy Sam; "_Hey, you know what, I think I'm falling in love with you, Sammy."_

He hadn't said anything, though, of course. He was Dean 'love 'em and leave 'em' Winchester, and he had a reputation to live up to. So he had kept his mouth firmly shut, and pretended - for both of their sakes - that their relationship was purely about the sex, and no emotions would ever be necessary.

But then Sam had gone and dropped that bombshell on him - "_I'm leaving you to go to Stanford", _and Dean had found himself completely breaking away from Sam, physically, at least_. _He'd be lying if he said that their abstinence was easy - _God, _he was so far gone that he almost didn't recognise himself.

But he had ruined it all now, with his gentle words and soft touches. He'd let everything he had wanted to keep locked away inside - buried so far down that not even the best would be able to get him to speak the truth - well, he'd let it all come flooding out; brazen, unashamed and clearer than crystal.

Dean was so lost in thought that he jumped when Sam's warm, still slightly wet frame enveloped him from behind; wrapping him up into an affectionate hug.

"Hey. What are you thinking about?" Sam asked, noticing Dean's sudden jump. "You all right?"

"I'm fine, Sammy." Dean murmured, closing his eyes. "I'm fine."

Sam pulled away and chuckled, reaching for a pair of jeans and a shirt. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

* * *

There was a bit of a silence at the table of the not-too-clean diner as Sam fiddled with the little sachets of sugar for his coffee; tearing at them absentmindedly, before letting them dissolve into the hot liquid.

Dean had lost count of how much sugar he'd actually put in, but then again, Sam always had had a bit of a secret sweet tooth.

Dean ate a mouthful of apple pie - not the perfect breakfast food, he'd admit it, but after the inner confusion of the morning, Dean felt he deserved a few extra calories.

"Okay. So, I said that we'd talk today." Sam piped up.

Trust Sam to ruin a perfectly good piece of pie.

"Do we have to?" Dean all but whined; he'd had enough of deep inner reflection for the day.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah. I just want to, uh, clear some things up. Do you remember saying that you wanted us to continue, uh, screwing around?"

Dean levelled him with an unimpressed look. "I wasn't freakin' pissed, Sam."

Sam held his hands up in front of him - in defence or in surrender, Dean wasn't quite sure. "Okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure you meant what you said."

Dean was silent for a few seconds.

_This is your chance to fix everything again, Dean. Tell him that last night was a mistake, and that we'd be better off if we stopped touching each other. Tell him it'll be too hard to lose him if we continue._

Dean looked up, and noticed the barely suppressed look of anxiety and a weird sort of desperation on Sam's face.

…_I can't just stop all of this. I can't do that to him. I can't do that to _me.

"I… I meant what I said." Dean finally admitted, watching as Sam's face lit up with relief. "I don't think we could just… stop, you know?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Good."

There was silence again, and just as Dean had started to think that their chick-flick moment had run its course, Sam spoke up again.

"Also, uh, you've never kissed me like that before." Sam lowered his voice. "I mean, maybe we've kind of kissed during sex, but not… Not like that."

"I am aware of that, Sam." Dean muttered, sarcastic even as he stuffed his mouth full with crumbly pastry and apple.

Sam's face dropped into its usual unimpressed stare - the face that Dean had fondly nicknamed his 'Bitch Face'.

"Thank you for your input, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes, and swallowed harshly. "Anyway, last night, you, uh, you also cuddled me."

Dean gave him a quizzical look. "I know that too."

"So does that mean…?" Sam trailed off, and looked steadfastly down at his coffee. "That we… you know."

"That we what? Come on, use your full sentences. I thought that we'd mastered that by now."

Sam gave him a patronising look. "Very funny, Dean. Look, I just want to know why you did all that stuff last night. I mean, you were almost _gentle. _It was almost like… like it meant something to you too. Or was it, you know, a one-off because we were both a little emotionally unstable?"

Dean sighed. He didn't really feel that a grubby diner was the perfect place to be having this particular conversation, but hey.

"I did it because I love you, Sam."

"I know that." Sam huffed, frustrated. "I just… I want to know what kind of love it is."

And Dean really couldn't answer that question just yet.

* * *

_Thirty Three Days Before._

Dean woke with a start from a very bitter dream, and sat up so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash.

_Oh God. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Sam's still here. Thank Christ for that._

It had been a truly horrible dream - a dream where Sam had left and had never come back for him; leaving him eternally alone. In this dream, Sam had found someone better than his emotionally stunted brother, had fallen in love and got married - a dream that had highlighted all of Dean's worst fears.

With a sigh, Dean brought his fingers up to rub at his eyes, and it was only then that he realised that he was perched precariously on a stool at the table of yet another motel room.

_Just a dream._

Before Dean could get a chance to properly analyse the dream - no, _nightmare_ might be a more appropriate word - Sam wandered into the room, a glass of cold water clutched in his hand.

"Oh, hey, you're awake. How are you feeling?" he asked, walking around to the other side of the table.

Dean gave him a weird look. "I'm feeling fine, Sammy."

Sam held his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I just wondered why you were so tired, that's all. You don't usually fall asleep at tables at one o'clock in the afternoon."

Dean smirked, the negativity of his nightmare fading fast in the presence of his brother. "Heh. Guess you just tired me out good last night." he said, lips turning upwards into a sly smile. "I must say, it was very imaginative, that thing you were doing with your-"

"Boys?" John appeared from in the doorway, and both brothers froze, their current conversational topic feeling very heavy in the air.

"Yes, sir?" Dean asked, clearing his throat and getting off the stool.

John cast a fidgeting Sam a suspicious glance, before regarding the two with a slightly cold look. "We've got another vic. Five minutes ago, killed at - guess where."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "The candy store?"

John nodded. "Again, yes. Three in a row is a pattern, boys."

Dean held back a sigh. There was nothing he loved more than patterns.

* * *

As he lay in bed, curled up discreetly next to a sleeping Sam, Dean realised that for the first time in twenty three years, he finally understood just why Sam was so eager to leave the life of a hunter.

Dean was absolutely shattered, yet he couldn't sleep for two reasons. Reason one was that he had a swollen, bruised face and a broken nose, a possible fractured rib and a large, bloody gash that ran right across his stomach - all as a result of the malevolent spirit they had been hunting. He was in a shit-load of pain, and the painkillers he had taken hadn't done anything to reduce the agony.

And the second reason was that, as he lay next to an equally beaten Sam, he was overcome with intense emotion - overcome with fear and longing and _oh, god, he's going to be gone in a few months, and then everything will change and I'll be all alone._

Dean just didn't know how he was going to cope without Sam - his amazing, kind, absolutely gorgeous Sam - at his side.

He didn't know how he was going to cope, and it scared him.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Hiya, readers! This is the second to last chapter! Ah! (: So, yeah. Thank you for all of your kind reviews last chapter, and I hope FF sends out the alerts this time round! *Shakes head sadly*

Please review this chapter, and I hope you enjoy~

~Rainbow Fruit Loop xx

* * *

_~I'll Be Back Before You Know It~  
_Chapter Five.

_Fifteen Days Before._

"So, when are you planning on telling Dad that you're ditching us for Stanford?" Dean asked casually over a carton of noodles from the Asian shop down the road. "You do know he'll kill you, right?"

The two were, once again, alone in their motel room - really, their father's almost permanent absence really had come in handy these past few months. Especially because Dean had decided that if they were going to continue screwing around, then they had to fit three years of sex into three months.

Sam sighed, and put his chopsticks down. "I have no idea." He gave a wry smile. "I had thought about just leaving him a note and running off before he got the chance to kill me, but I figured he'd just hunt me down and shoot me in front of all the other students at Stanford. So I might just… I don't tell. Tell him on the day I leave, and then just run like hell."

Dean smiled sadly. "I'm going to miss you so much, baby brother."

Sam felt that oh-so familiar prickling feeling at the back of his eyes, and he cursed himself for crying so easily nowadays.

_Baby brother._ Dean hadn't called him that since he was seven, and that was only because he fell over on the playground and skinned his knees so badly that he couldn't walk properly for a week and a half.

"You know I'll miss you too." Sam said, returning the remorseful smile. "I don't know how I'll cope without you."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure that you definitely want to do this?" he asked, and Sam knew that he was asking, not because he was being selfish, but because he wanted to make sure his brother was doing what was best for him.

"I… I keep wondering if I've made the wrong decision." Sam admitted, picking up his chopsticks again. "But I've always wanted to go to college. I worked so hard in high school for this, and it seems like a waste to just…" he trailed off, and cleared his throat. "I want to do this."

Dean nodded, and Sam saw that final, tiny shred of hope vanish from his face - saw it disappear as Dean's face dropped minutely, his lips twitching downwards and together in a purse, his eyes closing for the shortest of seconds.

"All right then. It's three years in college, right? I think we can do that, Sammy." Dean smiled this time, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was a false smile, and Sam felt fake by returning one. "Three years."

"Yeah. Three years." Sam agreed, head dropping downwards.

Except that it wouldn't be three years. It would be the rest of his life. Sam wasn't just going to go to school, and then come out three years later and say, "Well, that was fun; I'm ready to start hunting again." No. Sam wanted to _gain _something from his time at Stanford, and he knew that if he worked hard enough and got the best grades he could, then he could be set for the rest of his life.

This change was permanent, and both brothers knew it.

* * *

_Two Days Before._

Sam clung to Dean, his face buried in his brother's chest, his arms so tight around Dean's waist that he was sure he was cutting off circulation. He was making pathetic little snuffling noises, and his tears were soaking Dean's shirt.

It was one o'clock in the morning, and, though their father was lying, asleep, in the bed a few metres away, Sam had found himself unable to stop his loud, snotty tears. He'd awoken with a start, and, for reasons that he didn't quite understand, had been struck with a sudden sort of terror - a helpless fear, because he was leaving for Stanford in two days.

"I don't want to go, Dean. I don't want to go." Sam sobbed, fists tightening in the fabric of Dean's shirt. "I don't want to leave you."

Dean - ever the lovely big brother - continued rubbing soothing circles into his back, and muttered comforting words into his ear. The two were sitting up on the bed, with Dean leaning uncomfortably against the headboard, and Sam practically sitting in his lap, overly enthusiastic in his yearning for comfort.

Dean felt a pang of sadness when he remembered that this gentleness and warmth wouldn't be shared for long - it was all going to disappear in two days.

_Two days._

He pulled the duvet up around Sam's shoulders to keep them both warm in the cool air, and gently reached up to wipe away the tears spilling from Sam's eyes.

He hadn't seen Sam cry like this for years, and it unnerved him. Sure, Sam was the type of person who did cry easily, but to see him like this - eyes red, tears dripping, nose snotty, and completely and utterly _terrified - _well, it made Dean want to cry too.

"Shh." he whispered, smoothing his fingers over Sam's hair. "You don't mean that, Sammy. You don't mean that. I know how much you want to go to Stanford. You're gonna have so much fun, right?"

It was like Sam was eight all over again, despite the fact that his firm, muscular frame stretched out taller than his brother's. A part of Sam was vaguely aware that he should be embarrassed at this display of vulnerability, but with Dean stroking his hair with such _compassion_, Sam couldn't bring himself to care.

Another part of Sam couldn't help but think that this was the last time he would be like this - curled up in strong, trustworthy arms, warm and safe, and completely and utterly _in_ _love - _all of it with Dean.

He gave a watery smile, and nodded weakly. "But I won't be with you."

"Ah, you'll have more fun without me there, cramping your style." Dean joked, his fingers still running through Sam's silky-soft hair. "And I'll call you every day, if you need me to. We can even have more gay-ass chick-flick moments, if you want."

Sam nodded against his shoulder, and then pulled back to fix his eyes on Dean's equally tear-stained face. "Thank you, Dean. For everything."

Dean smiled Sam's favourite crinkly-eyed smile, and shook his head lightly. "It's all right, Sammy."

Casting a quick glance towards their oblivious, dead-to-the-world father, Sam leant forwards to press a quick kiss to Dean's lips.

Dean sighed, and held Sam close, closing his eyes as he tried to remember the scent, the touch, the warmth, the _feel _of his baby brother, because, soon, it would all be gone, and he would have only his memories left.

They only had two days left together, and they were both painfully aware of it.

* * *

_The Last Day._

"So." Dean said, reaching out to entwine his fingers with Sam's. "I guess this is it then, huh?"

The two were sitting crossed-legged on their crappy motel bed, Sam's bag packed full of things he'd need at Stanford lying underneath. It was ten o'clock in the morning, and Sam's train to Palo Alto left at five o'clock that night.

"I suppose it is." Sam replied, scratching at his forehead.

He was trying his hardest not to burst into tears - after his rather embarrassing outburst a few nights ago, he had found himself trying to suppress all of his emotions before they got the better of him.

Dean sighed, and lowered his eyes so that he was looking at the interesting floral pattern on the duvet beneath the two. "When are you going to tell Dad?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. He's going to kill me."

Dean made a noise of agreement, and then cleared his throat. "If you want, I could tell him for you, you know, once you've left. Then you won't end up arguing."

Sam smiled, but shook his head. "No, Dean, I can't ask you to do that." he said, absentmindedly playing with their conjoined hands. "I don't want you to have to suffer Dad's wrath."

They both gave half-hearted smirks at that.

"All I know is that Dad's not going to let you get on that train to California without doing everything in his power to stop you." Dean said. "He doesn't think going to school matters, and so it won't matter that you've been accepted to freaking _Stanford_."

Sam smiled at that. Dean hadn't mentioned that fact that he'd been accepted into such a prestigious school before, and the fact that he _knew _what an accomplishment it was, and the fact that, despite everything, he _was _proud, well… it was the closest thing to acceptance that Sam was going to get.

So he chuckled. "Yeah. At least we've managed to get this far without him knowing, right?"

"Yeah."

There was a bit of a silence then. There was so much that Sam wanted to say to Dean - some things that he had already said, some that he hadn't. He wanted desperately to tell Dean how much he loved him - to let Dean know that he'd actually fallen in love with him.

But the reason he remained silent was because he was scared. Scared that Dean wouldn't return his words; scared that Dean would tell him that the type of love he felt was purely brotherly, and that the fucking they did was just that; cold, emotionless fucking.

He was scared that Dean would regret everything that they had done up until this point; the kissing, the cuddling, the hand holding. He was scared that Dean was only showing his more tender side because trying to keep his brother happy, because, once he was at Stanford, then Dean wouldn't have to bother any more.

"Dean, I-" Sam started, ready to voice all his confusion and doubt.

"I don't really think you can put it off for much longer." Dean interrupted, glancing at the clock to his left. "You've only got a few more hours, and then you're going to have to leave for the train station. You have to tell him now."

"I… I guess." Sam shook his head lightly, and cleared his throat for the umpteenth time that day. "Will you come with me? I don't think I can tell him alone."

Dean tightened his grip on Sam's hand, and leant forwards to press a quick kiss to his temple.

"If you need me with you. Come on, we have to tell him now." Dean reiterated, repeating the imperative as though he was trying to psyche himself up.

Sam leant forwards again, ready to capture Dean's lips in a gentle, thankful kiss, when a deep voice from the doorway made both boys jump.

"Tell me what?" John asked, narrowing his eyes as he noticed their entwined hands and close proximity.

As soon as he noticed the look of confusion on his father's face, Dean dropped Sam's hand as though it was burning him, and pushed Sam away from him. He shot a quick glance at Sam, who was looking slightly hurt by his rough denial of their closeness.

_I'm sorry, Sammy._

"Dad, I-" Sam started up, his voice shaking. He swallowed harshly, and was vaguely aware that his face was turning a tell-tale shade of red.

_I can't believe Dad caught us._

"Tell me what?" John repeated, his voice stern and cold. "I know you've been hiding something from me, Sam - both of you, in fact. What's going on?"

Sam opened his mouth, and closed it again - obviously lost for words.

"I… uh, look. Before I tell you what's happening, I want you to promise not to take it out on Dean, okay?" Sam's voice wasn't trembling now. It was hard and cold, and demanded that John listened to him. "Dean has _nothing_ to do with it."

John gave a curt nod, his eyes flicking towards Dean for the briefest of moments.

"Okay." Sam gave a shaky exhale. "I'm going to school."

John's face turned a stormy sort of dark, and Sam was acutely aware of his hands fisting at his sides - a white knuckled reaction was never good.

"You- what? What did you say?"

Sam stood up, and took a step closer to their father - not that he was trying to intimidate John with his threatening height, but he wasn't sure just how violent their exchange might end up being, and he wanted to make sure that he wasn't at a disadvantage.

"I'm leaving. I'm going to school."

John eye's narrowed, and he shot a look towards Dean - his truth-telling soldier.

"Is this true?"

Dean stood up next to Sam, and instantly Sam wrapped his fingers around Dean's sleeve, holding on as tight as he could. Perhaps it was a childish thing to do - to seek courage within his brother, but Sam wasn't ashamed to admit it; he needed Dean, now more than ever.

"Yeah." Dean replied.

John's eyes flicked back to Sam, a deep scowl on his face.

"You're not going."

Sam felt the anger bubbling up, and he desperately repressed it.

"Dad, I'm nineteen now, you can't stop me from doing what I want." he said calmly, his grip tightening on Dean's sleeve. "And what I want is to go to school."

"I did not bring you up to be the type of person who runs away from their family, Sam." John said, his eyes narrowing. "You were not brought up to be a coward."

Sam bristled at that. He was _not _being a coward.

"I'm not running away, Dad!" Sam said, exasperated. "And I'm not a coward. I just… I mean, I just want to…" He trailed off, and cast Dean a desperate look; so desperate and scared and heartbroken that Dean wanted to pull his brother into a huge hug and never let go.

Instead, though, Dean loosened Sam's grip on his sleeve, and then entwined his fingers with his brother's - hoping that the gesture would be seen as supportive and brotherly, and not in any way laced with the romantic undertones of their relationship.

"What is it then, Sam?" John was almost yelling now, and Sam flinched. He hadn't wanted to cause a massive argument, but then again - what had he been expecting? John was hardly known for being understanding or thoughtful, so, really, there was only one way that he was going to react to Sam going to Stanford.

"I just… I want to have an education!" Sam raised his voice too - not to be outdone by their father's intimidating tone. "A proper college education. This isn't the life that I want, and I need to get out of it while I still can."

"What makes you think that you deserve a 'better' life, huh?" John demanded, his breathing coming out a little uneven. "Why do you think you deserve more than what your brother and I have?"

"It's not like that!" Sam hissed, forcing down the urge to shove his father. "I'm just the only one in this family who isn't consumed with the idea of revenge. Mom's dead, and _nothing_ will change that."

"Don't you talk about Mary like that, you bastard." John warned, stepping up into Sam's face. "Don't you talk about her like that."

"Can't you see it, Dad? You and your stupid need for revenge are tearing us to pieces. You're ruining our lives_._" Sam wasn't holding back now. He was letting everything that he had never said spill out into the open. It was time John heard what he thought. "You're ruining _everything, _and I _hate_ you for it_._"

Sam felt Dean stiffen at his side, and he briefly wondered why. He'd told their father that he hated him in most - if not all - of their serious arguments. But maybe this time it was serious. Maybe this time he meant it.

"We need to move on. And the only way I can do that is by leaving."

"You self-absorbed son of a bitch." John growled, stepping forwards and fisting his hands in Sam's shirt. "I brought you up to be better than this."

Sam released his vice-like grip on Dean's hand, and pushed John backwards, a little bit more violently than he would have liked.

"Don't you _dare_ say that to me, Dad." Sam snarled, his hands clenching at his sides. "You didn't bring me up at all. You didn't. It was Dean. _Dean_ raised me, not you. So don't you dare say that to me."

"Sam, Dad did the best he could, under the circumstances." Dean interrupted, stepping forwards to lay a calming palm on his chest. "We all did."

"Don't do this to me now, Dean." Sam pleaded, turning to face Dean. "Please. I need you on my side now, just this once. Please."

"I…" Dean cast a worried glance towards their father, but then stepped backwards. "I'm not going to get involved in this one. I'm sorry, Sammy, but I just can't."

Sam shot him a glance that portrayed a thousand emotions - hurt, anguish, anger, pain - before turning back to their father.

"Dad, you can't stop me from going." Sam said, his voice firm. "I'm leaving to Palo Alto on a train at five o'clock, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."

"If you walk out that door, then don't you come back." John said, no longer yelling, but completely and utterly serious. "If this family really means so little to you - if you want to leave Dean and I when we need you, then don't you come back. If you're going to go, you stay gone."

The tears welled up in Sam's eyes before he could stop them, and he felt himself crumbling. It wasn't supposed to end like this. It was supposed to end with John relenting and telling him how much he would miss him, and with Dean giving him a hug and saying the words he so wanted to hear - _'I love you, Sammy, and I'll never stop."_

But, instead, all he got was '_Don't you come back. Stay gone.'_

"Fine. If that's what you want." Sam said simply, moving over to the bed and bending down to pick up his bag. "Just remember that you're the one who's shutting this door, not me."

And with one final glance at Dean, Sam was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: This is it, guys! The last chapter! I hope you like it, and I hope none of you remain angry at Dean for not supporting Sam last chapter. :P Anyways, I'd like to thank my main reviewers; you guys are awesome. And a lot of you followed/added to your favourites, so thanks a lot! It'd be cool if you all reviewed this chapter, though, because I've SEEN the stats, and I know there are a lot of you guys reading. :P But thanks to everyone who did!

Like "AvocadoMash" said in their review, I like to think that both Sam and Dean were a lot more emotional before the whole hunting crap started up again. :P So that's why they both get so teary so often. :P Also, on a semi-related note, if you want this fic to be more angsty, then think about the fact that, canonically, Dean and Sam won't see each other for four years after this, and Sam'll fall in love with Jess. Ahhh.

Anyways, this is a massive author's note, so I'm going to leave now. Please review this final chapter for me! BYE~

~Rainbow Fruit Loop xx

* * *

_~I'll Be Back Before You Know It~  
_Chapter Six.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Dean turned to face their father with a furious expression - a number of emotions fighting for dominance across his face.

"Do you realise what you've just done?" Dean didn't often lose his temper at his father, but this - losing Sam - was unbearable. "Do you know what you've just _freakin'_ done?"

John regarded Dean coolly. "Don't you use that tone of voice with me, son. I've done nothing wrong. He'll be back, you'll see. He won't go off to California. He has no right to."

Dean exhaled angrily, and shook his head. "I don't think he gives a damn, Dad! This - _you _- is the reason why he wanted to leave in the first place. Don't you see it? He's gone, and he's not coming back! Are you happy now?"

John's eyes turned hard. "Are you defending him, Dean? Because I don't know what I saw when I interrupted your little conversation before, but let me tell you this - it stops. Right now. Whatever it is that you two are doing, it stops now. You hear me?"

Dean exploded. "You have _no _idea what's happening between Sam and I, and it's none of your goddamn business! I love him, Dad, and he loves me, and nothing you say will change that. But, oh, don't worry about it continuing, because you made damn sure that Sam won't step foot in a ten mile radius of wherever we are." he snarled, and for the first time in his life, he absolutely _hated _his father.

Losing Sam meant losing absolutely everything that he considered important, and he finally realised it now; he'd rather have Sam than their father, no matter what the cost.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, Dean. I've just had a fight with your brother, and I am not about to let you disrespect me in the same way."

Dean took a deep breath in. "You had no right to treat him like that, Dad. He's your _son._ I mean, you didn't even ask which college he got accepted into. _Freaking Stanford, _Dad_, _okay_? _Stanford. He got a full ride, and you didn't even ask."

John opened his mouth, but Dean hadn't finished.

"Just know this: _You_ were the one who told him not to come back, and he sure as hell won't. When you haven't seen him in ten years, it'll be _your _fault."

With that, Dean stormed over to the door; ready to chase after Sam, and tell him what he'd been meaning to all day. _I love you._

"Don't chase after your brother, Dean. You will do as I say. Don't go after him."

Dean fixed his father with a steely glare. "Don't even bother."

* * *

It was an hour later when Dean finally managed to find Sam; he was curled up and crying in a corner of a nondescript café.

_Thank God, Sammy, I thought I'd lost you._

With a deep, slightly shaky breath in, Dean strode over to his brother, and without saying a word, pulled him upwards into a warm hug. Immediately, Sam's arms encircled his chest, his tear-stained face making its way to the crook of his neck.

"Hey, hey, hey." Dean said soothingly, running his fingers through Sam's hair in the way that always made Sam calm down. "I'm here now, it's okay. It's okay."

Sam made a startling sobbing noise; a snotty, desperate sob that made Dean's heart shatter into a million pieces.

"I've been looking for you for an hour." Dean murmured, continuing his stroking movements. "I was getting worried that you'd already jumped on a train to Palo Alto without saying goodbye."

Sam sniffled in response.

"Sammy, I-"

"I'm sorry, Dean, I'm so sorry." Sam finally choked out, interrupting the start of Dean's speech. He held his brother tight. "I'm so sorry. I've ruined everything now."

Dean pulled away, and gently reached up to wipe away Sam's tears with his thumb.

"You've ruined what?" he asked quietly, brushing Sam's hair away from his face.

"Everything. You and Dad. Because he, he-" Sam broke off to suck in a hysterical breath, "-he saw us together, and that's my fault. And then I argued with him, and now he'll be in a horrible mood, and-"

"Hey now." Dean hushed him. "I don't blame you for anything. And I argued with him too, so that's my fault."

"You argued with Dad?" Sam asked, incredulous even in his messy state.

"Yeah. I told him that he had no right to say what he said to you. And then he said that he had seen us together, and that he wanted it to stop, and I told him that it was none of his business."

"Won't he start treating you like a perverted freak or something?" Sam asked, breaking the embrace to reach down to pick a napkin up off the table to blow his nose with. "It's not exactly normal to screw around with your brother."

Dean smiled, and gestured towards the chair Sam had been sitting in; indicating that Sam should sit down. When he did, Dean took the chair opposite.

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly normal to be brought up hunting monsters either, and here we are."

Sam smiled weakly, and reached forwards to pick up a sachet of sugar. He fiddled with it absentmindedly as Dean continued speaking.

"And I… I've realised something, Sammy." Dean said, swallowing harshly.

Suddenly, as his stomach clenched uncomfortably, Dean realised that he was nervous. He'd never told anyone that he had fallen in love with them before, and the thought of rejection and heartache was almost enough to put him off. Because, though he was almost one hundred percent sure that Sam had fallen in love with him too, he was going to be the first one to say it.

"What?" Sam glanced up at him, and threw the sugar sachet back down on the table. "What is it?" And he looked so hopeful; so desperate and tear-stained and helpless and _goddamned adorable, _that Dean realised that he had to say it, even if it killed him.

"I realised that you mean more to me than anyone in the entire world. More than Dad, more than anything_, _Sammy. And I… I just… I want you to know that I've fallen in love with you."

_There. I've said it._

Before he even had time to glance at Sam and figure out what his expression was, Dean found himself being forcibly bowled into - hit with such gusto that it almost knocked the wind out of him.

Sam was in his lap - straddling his waist the best he could in the awkward café chairs, his arms thrown around Dean's neck.

"Oh, Dean. Thank you, thank you thank you thank you." Sam murmured, crushing his lips against Dean's with such an enormous amount of passion that Dean hadn't thought he was capable of.

Dean smiled against Sam's lips, amused at his brother's almost _violently _happy reaction. Sam was such a sweetheart; kind and loyal and affectionate and _innocent_, and Dean knew that he deserved so much more than what he could offer him.

Sam deserved the world and more, but Dean didn't have that much to give. He had only his heart, and he hoped that Sam would be happy with the tiny slice of Heaven that he could offer.

But Sam… Well, Dean was pretty sure that Sam would give him _everything_, but he didn't think that he deserved it. Sam had so much to give, but how could Dean justify taking it? He was flawed, he knew that much. He was greedy and lustful and impatient and self-centred; why would Sam - his perfect brother - want that? Didn't that make their relationship unfair? Wasn't Dean being selfish - always taking, but never having enough to give?

But then - as Dean licked across the roof of Sam's mouth; their tongues touching and dancing a waltz to their very own rhythm - Sam made a tiny, almost inaudible mewling sort of moan, and suddenly it didn't matter that Dean didn't think he was good enough, because he _was_ selfish and he wanted Sam no matter what.

So he kissed his brother back as hard as he could; with every ounce of strength and every single emotion he had, because he loved Sam and he didn't want him to ever leave.

* * *

_Fifteen minutes._

"Well, I guess this is it, then." Dean muttered, eyes downcast, watching as the train approached the station. "Time for goodbyes."

It was quarter to five, and Sam had only fifteen minutes to say goodbye to his brother, his lover, his soul mate - Dean, his everything.

"Yeah, I guess so." Sam said, absentmindedly scuffing his shoe on the concrete pavement.

The two were huddled awkwardly underneath the station's awning, keeping close under the pretense that it was cold and raining, and neither of them had brought umbrellas or warm jackets.

"Yeah."

_Fourteen minutes._

Sam sighed internally, and lifted a hand to scratch lightly at his forehead. They were both horrendously terrible at goodbyes, and Sam didn't want his last memory of Dean to be awkward and uncomfortable.

"Listen, Dean, I, uh, I just… Thank you." Sam said, looking up into Dean's eyes, even though he knew that he wouldn't like what he saw there. "For everything."

Dean smiled. "No problems, little brother."

Sam returned the smile, and carefully reached down to entwine his fingers with his brother's.

"I'm going to miss you so much, Dean." Sam said, biting back his tears. Dean had seen him cry far too much in the past couple of days, and Sam wanted Dean to remember him as being strong; a brave soldier, just like him.

"I know. I'll miss you too." Dean murmured quietly. "But we'll talk all the time, don't you worry. And I'll come and visit whenever I'm allowed."

Sam chuckled. "I don't think Dad will like that idea very much."

Dean shook his head, and flashed a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, screw Dad. He can't tell me what I can and can't do. If I want to come visit you, then I freaking will."

"Yeah."

An uncomfortable silence followed, and Sam wanted to scream in frustration. They weren't supposed to be shy and awkward around each other; especially not now. There was so much that Sam wanted to say - so much that he felt he _needed _to say, yet he couldn't form the words to tell Dean anything.

And their time was ticking away.

_Twelve minutes._

"Hey, Dean, I, uh-" Sam started, shoving his hands deep in his jean pockets.

"Ah, screw all this awkwardness." Dean decided, interrupting the start of Sam's half-assed attempt at conversation. "Come here."

He pulled Sam into a warm, gentle hug; reaching up to loop his arms around his brother's neck. Sam instantly returned the gesture, and wrapped his arms around Dean's chest.

The two stayed like that, wrapped up and warm, content in each other, for what seemed like hours.

"I don't want us to have any regrets when we part." Dean murmured into Sam's ear. "I want us to say everything that we need to, okay? I want us to have a full-out chick-flick moment, damn the gayness."

_Nine minutes._

"Okay." Sam agreed, pulling back enough to look Dean in the eye. He had always loved Dean's eyes; had found beauty in the green-grey orbs that were now glistening with unshed tears. "Okay."

"Good." Dean said, clearing his throat. "I'll start, then. I want you to know that if you ever want to leave Stanford - if you ever want to come back home - then I'll come and pick you up. No matter where I am, I will come and get you."

Sam smiled weakly, and felt the first tear roll down his face. But tears were okay, tears were fine. It was the uncontrollable hysterics that he didn't want to let happen again.

"Thank you, Dean. That means a lot." Sam smiled again, and then ducked his head. "I want you to know that you will always come first in my life. No matter who I meet at Stanford, you will always come first. _Always_."

_Eight minutes._

Dean gave a visible sigh of relief, and leant forwards to kiss Sam on the nose. "And you will always come first to me. No matter how long we go without seeing each other, you will be my first priority."

"Yeah."

There was a bit of a silence as Sam tried to sort through the mess in his head to figure out what he wanted to say next.

"Okay. I want you to know - and I know that I've already told you, but I want to make sure you really listened - that I'm not leaving because of anything you've said or done. You're the only reason why it's so hard to let go of this life."

"I do know. Thank you, Sam." Dean pressed another quick kiss to his face; this one to his jaw. "And I want you to know that you're the most amazing person ever, and you'll do really well at Stanford and make loads of nerdy little friends."

Sam chuckled at that. "I think you're laying it on a bit thick now, Dean."

Dean smirked. "Yeah, maybe a bit. Okay, so maybe Megan Fox is a _tiny _bit more amazing than you, but you're definitely a close second. But I mean what I say about you doing well-" Dean broke off to tap at Sam's head, "-because this little brain of yours will fall in love with all of the research."

Sam swatted Dean's hand away, and pulled his brother a little bit closer. "Shut up, Dean, you're ruining the moment."

"Sorry."

Sam shot Dean a mock-suspicious look, his lips turning upwards in an affectionate smile. "You're not sorry at all, are you?"

Dean grinned. "Nope, not a bit."

_Five minutes._

Sam chuckled, and lightly punched Dean in the arm. "Okay then. If we're doing the whole compliments thing, then I want you to know that I think I'm the luckiest guy in the whole world for being with you."

Sam expected Dean put on his usual vain show - to say something along the lines of: _'Oh, I know, I'm so freaking gorgeous, aren't I? I think I could be a model. You should worship me, Sammy.'_

But instead, Dean shot him a genuinely surprised look.

"Really? Do you actually mean it?"

Sam shot Dean an equally incredulous look. "Well, of course I mean it! Why wouldn't I?"

Dean still looked a bit dubious, so Sam decided to elaborate. "Okay, well - don't let this go to your head or anything, but you're…" Sam paused then. There were so many fitting adjectives, and he couldn't choose just a few. So he settled for one; the one word his mind thought of most when he was around Dean.

"You're… beautiful, Dean, you really are."

Dean snorted. "Really, Sammy? _Really? _All the words you could have used, and you choose the most gay-ass one out there?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, it's the most true. You're a beautiful person, inside and out."

"Okay, when I said we could go chick-flick, I didn't mean freaking 'Love Actually'." Dean said, rolling his eyes sarcastically.

Sam smirked. "How do you even know that movie?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Shut up. I just do, leave me alone."

_Three minutes._

Sam exhaled heavily, and glanced towards the train that was still waiting. It was relatively full, and Sam wondered how many people on it were leaving people they loved.

_I'm sorry I'm leaving, Dean._

"_All aboard! Leaving the station in three minutes! All aboard!"_

Sam's eyes widened, and he threw Dean a desperate look.

"Dean-"

And then Dean's calloused fingers were gently cupping his face, his lips pressed firmly against Sam's own in a desperate, searing kiss.

Sam instantly responded to the touch, pulling Dean close until there was no more space left between them. He attacked Dean's lips with a passion that he was sure would bruise, but he was sure that Dean wouldn't mind.

_Dean, I don't want to let you go._

Sam moved his hands from where they had taken a possessive hold of his brother's hips, and drifted upwards until they were pressing firmly against the small of Dean's back, pressing him tight against his body.

Dean would never admit it, but he was ever-so-slightly ticklish, and as Sam traced delicate patterns across his back, he found himself repressing the urge to giggle like a school girl.

Sam deepened the kiss with a gentle moan; running his tongue along Dean's lower lip until his brother responded eagerly. Their tongues fought then, dancing around each other in a light-hearted power-play, because Sam refused to be beaten by his older brother.

"_All aboard! Leaving the station in one minute! All aboard!"_

And the voice - it reminded them where they were, and why they were there. So, reluctantly, the two broke apart, and Sam gripped Dean's jacket tightly, holding on with all of his strength.

"Dean, I have to go now." Sam said desperately, gently kissing at the tears streaming down Dean's face.

Seeing Dean cry was one of the hardest things Sam had ever seen. He'd watched innocent people being torn to bloody shreds by demonic forces - unable to do anything to stop it. He had seen children crying for their dead parents, had seen parents crying for their dead children.

But seeing Dean, his brave, emotionally stunted soldier, cry so openly… well, Sam really couldn't imagine anything worse.

"I know, I know. And I love you so much, Sam. I do, I really do. Don't you forget it." Dean pressed another kiss to Sam's forehead, before - reluctantly - pushing him away. "Go on, I don't want you to miss your train."

Sam sniffed, and nodded his head. "I'll call you as soon as I can." He took a few steps closer to the train, and then - just as Dean was ready to break down and sob uncontrollably because Sam was _leaving _and he wasn't coming back - Sam sprinted back towards him, and picked up his hands to squeeze them tightly.

"Wait! Dean, I don't think I said it back!" Sam said, urgency evident in his voice.

"_All aboard! Leaving the station in thirty seconds! All aboard!"_

"You haven't said what?" Dean asked, obviously confused.

"You've said it to me, and I know that you already know that it's true, but I need to say it back. I love you too. I do, I love you with all of my heart. I don't think I've told you enough. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Dean smiled at his brother, and brought a hand up to stroke down Sam's face. "I know you do, but thank you for saying it. Now, go on, don't miss your train."

"Bye, Dean." Sam whispered, his vision blurry with his tears. "I'll be back before you know it, I will. Three years."

Dean smiled weakly. "Yeah, you'll be back in no time. See you later, Sammy."

And with one final, parting hug, Sam made his way to the train, and clambered on.

_I'll be back before you know it._


End file.
